Rome
by Permanent Rose
Summary: Rizzoli and Isles meets Ancient Rome. Jane, tormented by her past, has given up her identity to join the Roman Legion. Stationed in Britannia, her path unexpectedly crosses with the beautiful governor's daughter, Maura, whose past just may be as complicated as Jane's.
1. Chapter I

_A/N: So I've been nursing this idea for a while now – Ancient Rome would have to be my favorite historical era, and though I know I'm not the first to tackle this idea, I hope I can bring a fresh and intriguing plotline to the table. The title, I know, is hardly creative, and despite sharing the title and the cover art with the HBO show, it won't really have many similarities._

_So while some elements of this fic will be historically accurate, there are a handful of details I've had to fudge just to make our beloved characters more recognizable. Names, for instance, is the biggie (The Latin language doesn't even technically have the letter 'J ' lol). Romans had a very set way of choosing and passing on names, and the selection of names didn't really include the names of our beloved characters, regardless, so I've taken the liberty of "Romanizing" their names just so they appear to fit into the time period more accurately. If any of the names are not obvious, I'll make sure to mention them in an A/N before the chapter they make their debut in so you can follow along. Jane and Maura's names are going to appear as Jane and Maura, just because it'd be too weird to not use their given names – but even their names will have an explanation that you'll see as I write more._

_This story will be told switching between present time and flashbacks, so there will be ambiguity at times, but I promise that your questions will be answered in due time_

_This story takes place in the early Roman Empire, during the Julio-Claudian dynasty. Nero is emperor and it's roughly around 60 AD. As needed, I'll leave some historical/cultural notes in my A/Ns, and the limited Latin I use is typically explained or easy to infer from the context. But for now it's about time I let you read __:]_

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

Her face hit the ground with thud, slamming her cheek against the hard earth. The taste of dirt mixed with blood and sweat assaulted her tongue as she bit down on her lip, struggling to breathe.

"You bastard," she hissed, feeling his weight press against her, keeping her pinned to the ground. A small distance off, she heard a scream, causing her stomach to clench with hatred. "Don't you dare touch her."

"Fight me, Janus," he hissed, kneeing her hard in the stomach. She bit her lip harder, rupturing the skin, warding off her dizzying symptoms. "Fight me for her. Fight me if you love her."

The woman whimpered, and she writhed beneath his grasp. He tightened his grip, digging his nails through her tender skin. She let out a yelp, momentarily stunned to submission.

"Jane," the woman sobbed, the familiar nickname coaxing the strength from her. She was imbued with a rush of adrenaline, jamming her own knee into his gut. He grunted, his grip wavering for a moment, but not enough for her to overcome him. He throttled her back to the ground, her head slamming hard into the earth. Her breathing grew shallow, her head lolling to one side.

"Don't hurt her," she begged softly, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

"I'll do with her what I please," he cackled tauntingly, earning another jab in the stomach as she summoned what strength she had left. He reached for his dagger, keeping her firmly against the ground with the weight of his body as he dragged the jagged blade against her throat. She let out a sound equivalent to that of a wounded animal, the sound mixing with the woman's heavy cries.

It was not the first time she had faced death. She had taunted it many times throughout her years – and at times somewhat too willingly. She had thrown herself into the battlefield, pursuing triumph but never shying from imminent defeat. Even the bravest men trembled, even if only inwardly, at the thought of losing their lives, even in the noblest manner, but she had stared death head on, unwavering, her stony heart braced for even the greatest downfall. But she had carried on with a fierce perseverance, an ugly knot of anger and the promise of revenge boiling deep within her core, encouraging her despite all she had lost.

But now, as she felt the warm blood spill from her neck, a new feeling pulsed throughout her. A sense of determination not fueled by the ugly hatred that had consumed her, but instead by the soft fluttering of love. She let out a sob, not from the searing pain, but in response to the grief that slowly melted away.

"Maura," she whispered softly, hoping her voice would carry.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she knew she'd meet her end soon, and she was more frightened than she had ever felt in her life. Before, she would have gladly taken a spear to the chest, a sword to the gut, an arrow to her heart, letting them each tear through the bitter ugliness she harbored. But now she had a reason to live, a reason to love. She wished the cost of her life would save the one she loved, but her death would do little to protect her.

She let out another sob as he pressed the dagger more firmly against her neck. "_Te amo," _she fiercely whispered. "_Te semper amavi, te semper amabo…"_

* * *

_Chapter I_

* * *

It was high noon, and the sun beat down mercilessly on the cobblestoned streets. The stench of sweat, urine, and horse dung rose with the heat, filling the crowded forum. Fragments of shouts could be heard from stall to stall – Greek, Latin, Arabic, and Hebrew, all melding together as the shopkeepers conducted their business.

A soldier stood near an alleyway on the outskirts of the forum, leaning up against a heavily graffitied wall, relishing the small patch of shade amongst the open marketplace. He was heavily tanned with a striking face that turned more eyes than he favored. Women young and old were attracted to his sharp features, his prominent brow and his lean, muscular build. Men were often intrigued as well, finding a beauty in his distinctive face, drawn to his dark, endless eyes.

He spoke rarely, and when his did, his voice was gruff and sinewy but held the hint of a feminine drawl. His face was always smooth, and his arms and legs had only a soft splay of hair, much like those of young boys before they matured. He'd been called a eunuch more than once, attesting for his lack of masculine features, but hardly any suspected that he lacked much more than a castrated young man.

'He' was hardly a man at all, though the soldier made a conscious effort to reveal this detail to no one, and sometimes she found herself forgetting her true identity as well. It'd been years since she'd let her hair grow long, eons since she'd donned a _stola, _and she had never learned to apply a heavy coating of kohl around her eyes to accentuate them. The grim reminder was always her naked body, bound tightly day after day to stifle her curves, bathing in private to conceal that she was far less than a man than she led others to believe her to be.

She hated her body; she hated the reminder of weakness, of hardship. She hated that she was stuck in an unbearable limbo, not quite defined as anything at all. While she could never physically be the man she had worked hard to form, she also could not imagine embracing her femininity, accepting the smothering role of a housewife, a voiceless citizen.

She spat against the ground, watching her saliva evaporate quickly from the parched pavement. She lifted her gaze, squinting into blinding sunlight, her eyes falling on a _venalicius, _a slave-dealer,leading a group of African slaves to the auction. They were mostly women, their heads shaved and their bodies bare and vulnerable. The chains binding their wrists and ankles clinked together as they walked at an even pace, their eyes stoic as they kept their gaze straight ahead. At the end of the line, the only male slave took up the rear. His dark skin glistened with sweat, accenting his sinewy muscles. She winced as she registered the raw, fresh slashes on his back, and the _venalicius _seemed all too eager to further decorate his back as he kept his whip handy.

The soldier followed behind at a distance, knowing that she shouldn't get involved, but the lashes on the slave's back struck a nerve that she could not ignore. Slavery was a common practice throughout the empire, and one that she had hardly given a thought to growing up, taking her own few household slaves for granted, never knowing better. But now she understood ownership. As a woman, she had been destined to belong to her husband if she had not taken it upon herself to free her from the binds of her gender. As a soldier in the army, she had become a pawn of the Roman state, bound to a life with hardly any more freedoms than a slave.

She noticed them now, the thousands of imprisoned individuals, forced into a life of captivity, and it made her seethe, made her ache, and she worried what her anger might cause her to do as she watched the _venalicius _roughly jerk the chain, leading the slaves into the forum.

"Strong, beautiful slaves from Africa," he announced in accented Latin. "Finest there is, healthy and strong," he began his mantra, earning the attention of the citizens.

She hung back a few steps, blending in easily with the crowd as she watched, her eyes falling on the slaves' faces, their terror apparent as they fought to keep their faces expressionless. The male slave wore grimace, his entire face hardened with anger.

"Do I hear five hundred _denarii_ this African beauty?" the _venalicius _showcased the first girl who could have been barely more than twelve, her exposed breasts hardly developed. The soldier watched her face in admiration as she kept her gaze fixed ahead, her fear hardly apparent.

A stout middle-aged man took the offer, though was quickly outbid by a finely dressed young man. "Six hundred _denarii_!"

She gritted her teeth as she watched the display, wondering how the concept of owning a human life had come about. The slave girl was sold for eight hundred and fifty _denarii _to the young citizen and shoved off the auction block into arms of her new master.

The young patrician jerked the chains, leading the girl away. The woman who had stood along side her let out a small sob, her façade breaking as she watched the girl disappear into the crowd. Her tears were quickly silenced by the crack of the whip, her knees wobbling as she tried to gain her compose.

The African man yelled out in a language the soldier did not recognize, his face contorted into an expression of utter rage. "You say you do not touch them!" he bellowed in fragmented Latin. He rattled his chains, attempting to lunge himself at the _venalicius. _"I am the only one you touch!"

The _venalicius _turned sharply on his heal, baring the whip onto the slave's oozing back. "You are a slave, and you do not speak to a freeman this way! Another word out of you, and I will have you put to death!"

The slave doubled over as the _venalicius _continued to split his back, his resolve wavering as the blood poured from his back. The soldier had seen enough; she shoved her way past the thickening crowd, throwing herself between the slave and the whip. It sliced against her arm, and she bit back a wince, watching as the _venalicius _stumbled back in surprise.

"What in Pollux's name do you think you're doing?" he spat in her direction, edging toward the trembling slave.

"I'm preserving what little dignity this man has left," she defended, her hand clasped against the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it at any moment.

"He's a slave – a piece of property, as worthless as your filthy tunic," he growled, annoyed when she kept her feet firmly panted. "He has no dignity, no place in this world, and I pity the man who will own this indignant bastard."

She drew her sword, watching his eyes widen as she rested it gently against his neck. A murmur rose as nearly everyone in the vicinity stopped to watch, perplexed and uneasy as they tried to register the taboo display. "I'll take him," the solider stated with clarity.

"That will be seven hundred _denarii,_" the _venalicius _squeaked, breathing carefully as she kept her weapon firmly planted.

"That's a high price for something so worthless, don't you think?" she countered, jerking her sword just enough the break the skin. He exhaled loudly, stumbling backward a step. "I think you'd better wager the value of your life."

She gave his neck a final knick, watching as the blood from the superficial cut spilled onto the front of his tunic. He backed away, put in his place. He nodded, shoving the man toward her. "You may think you've won, but don't say I didn't warn you when you have a rebellion on your hands," he added with a final sneer.

"I'll take my chances," she confidently replied, feeling the eyes of the crowd follow her as she led the slave away from the forum, a mixture of awe, disgust, and reverence in the atmosphere.

"Why you do that?" the slave muttered once they had walked a fair distance from the teeming crowd. His voice was no longer filled with resentment, but instead held a tone of respect.

She shrugged. "Gets me angry to see any human being treated that way."

"Your law says that I am not 'human being,'" he reminded her as they took a turn down a less congested alleyway.

"The law says a lot of things I do not agree with," she shrugged again, not sure if she appreciated this opportunity to explain herself. She was used to keeping silent, used to harboring her thoughts and secrets to only herself. "I like to live by my own code of standards," she added with a weak chuckle.

The slave smirked softly as well, but he refrained from commenting, his chains continuing to rattle as she led him through the dank alleyway, the drainage of the _cloaca maxima _hardly stifling the putrid smells intensified by the summer heat.

"Here, let me take those chains off for you," she offered, stopping in her tracks as she turned to face the slave. He wore only a dirty loincloth, and his feet were calloused and bare. His eyes were no longer stony as they met hers fondly, and her stomach knotted with empathy.

"Aren't you frightened that I run off, _dominus_?" he countered, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone that would have infuriated any other high born Roman man.

But she was hardly a Roman man, even putting aside her obvious physical differences. She was not ignorant to hardship, to pain, or to sorrow. She saw the world in a way that many had never been forced to look upon it. She raised an eyebrow in response, taking her sword for her sheath. "Hell, makes no difference to me if you do. I hardly have a need for a slave – hands out," she commanded, lifting her sword. "I have a good aim," she assured him with a throaty laugh as the slight widening of his eyes.

She swiftly slashed the metal binds, the iron links clattering to the ground. She followed suit with his bound ankles, wincing slightly as she noticed the ugly marks they had left against his dark skin. She replaced her sword. "Coming or going?" she asked, turning her sandaled feet in the opposite direction, giving him the first choice he had been offered since his captivity.

"If I must have _dominus, _I pick you," he muttered, using the word with a sense of respect now.

"I'm not much a master," she shrugged, but she smiled faintly. It had been so long since she had allowed someone to let her feel even the slightest emotion. She'd become so hardened, so callous, that she'd forgotten what it was like to even have an alliance. "You have a name?"

"I was called Ankhenaten in my homeland. Here, I am called many names, but most call me Nubia for the country that I come from," he answered.

"That's one place I've never been to," she answered. "I've traveled up to the north to Britannia, seen cities all over Italia, gone down to the southern islands of Graecia, and even seen the shores of Asia Minor. What is your home like?" she struck up conversation, curious about the African lands she had never laid eyes on.

"Desert, mostly," he answered. "Miles and miles of burning sand. Many say there is nothing, but I see beauty," he spoke nostalgically. "Have you seen desert?"

"Only in paintings," she admitted. "It reminded me of snow," she added with a laugh. "In Britannia, the winters were harsh, but the snow covered the land like a blanket, stretching for miles upon miles across the barren fields – much like the desert."

"Except cold," the slave contradicted. "Desert is white hot, not white cold. I never see snow before. Only frost when I was in Ostia."

She jerked her head up, the mention of the port city sending a pang of familiarity through her, though she said nothing. "When I was little, I had never seen snow either, but we'd have frost in the winters, and I loved how the tiny crystals clung to the garden outside. I used to dust it off the tree branches before the morning sun had a chance to melt it."

"Frost is strange. Not like sand. But I like it," he assured her, following her as she led him to her _insulae, _her apartment building, in the heart of the city.

"Frost," she laughed again. "I think that's what I'll call you, seeing as I've already forgotten your name."

"As you wish, _dominus_," he laughed as well. "I go by many names. Your name, I see, is written here on your sheath. You etch it there," he noticed, daring to reach out and finger the crudely scratched words.

"One of them," she confirmed. "I go by many names as well."

"Ja—" he began to sound out, impressing her by his knowledge. It was rare to see a slave who was able to read Latin. "Jane," he concluded.

"Janus," she corrected.

"You call me Frost, I call you Jane," he muttered with a small smile.

* * *

_A/N: So I'm really excited about this idea, and I'd love some feedback. Let me know if you'd be interested in reading more!_


	2. Chapter II

_A/N: Thanks so much for your interest, guys. I honestly haven't felt this invested in a fic for a long time, so I appreciate any and every bit of feedback you guys give me :] So the flashbacks begin in this chapter – and I'll denote them with italics just so I don't leave you guessing. However, the flashbacks won't always be in chronological order or follow the same person. You'll get bits of Maura's childhood, Jane's childhood, and events that brought Jane and Maura to where they currently are, and I promise it won't be too confusing, but I just wanted to get you all on board._

_Also, I didn't mention this last chapter. Ages for Jane and Maura: Jane is in her low twenties, and Maura is around eighteen. I know these sound very young, but despite their young ages, this isn't like the typical high school/college fic where they're meant to be younger. Roman girls were married as early as age twelve, and the life expectancy was much younger than it is today, so I merely adjusted their ages to fit the time period._

* * *

_Chapter II_

* * *

_The tavern was no place for a highborn Roman girl, teeming with drunken soldiers who were eager to feast their eyes upon any trace of delicate beauty. Maura, however, paid no heed to these social standards, drawing her cloak up tighter to her neck as she entered the lion's den. She felt stifled, as she imagined many other upper class young girls her age felt, though it was hardly something that entered ordinary discussion; she itched for so much more than her sheltered life offered her. She knew she was privileged, receiving an esteemed education from her Greek tutor. She was fluent in both Latin and Greek, and she had even taught herself bits of Hebrew, Arabic, and Parthian. She was well-versed in history and literature, and she had studied mythology and religion thoroughly, her knowledge easily surpassing even the men of her generation._

"_Maura," the tavern owner greeted her with a small smile. _

"_Salve, Gaius," she greeted in return, lowering her hood as she let her cloak slip from her shoulders, revealing an ivory _stola _that accentuated her modest curves. She adjusted her dark wig, touching the soft hair. Her eyes were so heavily lined with kohl and her cheeks darkly coated with rouge that she would hardly be associated with the fair, simple girl that anyone might have recognized her as in the light of day. _

"_You should not keep coming here," he warned as he always did, taking Maura's purse from her outstretched grasp as he dropped a few coins inside. "There should be another way."_

"_There are not many ways for a highborn girl like myself to earn money," Maura reminded him, tucking her purse away with her cloak. _

_Her father was wealthy, but she knew the only part of her inheritance she'd ever see was her dowry on the day she was wed, but she found that was itching for so much more. She wanted to travel on her own assets, to see the world before she'd be tied down. She wasn't opposed to the idea of marriage, but she wanted to explore the world she had only read about before settling into her life. She had grown up in Britannia where her father had been instated governor by Nero, secluded from the rest of the developing empire. They did travel to Rome for a month each summer, but it was hardly enough to give Maura the taste of the world she wished so desperately to explore._

"_If they harass you too much, let me know, and I'll take care of you," Gaius winked at her, though he let out a heavy sigh. Maura knew he was genuinely torn about letting her work in the tavern along side his other girls, especially on the nights the soldiers piled in, ready to drink off a week of hard work. He was supportive of her intentions, and he knew she had a strong head on her shoulders, but throwing a pretty, freeborn girl in front of the crass, undersexed soldiers left him with qualms. _

_She took a few goblets of _posca_, a cheap, bitter wine mixed with water, which was a favorite among the soldiers and their limited budget, to a nearby table. She was immune to their crude comments, merely flashing them an alluring smile as she handed them their drinks, often earning a few extra _sestertii_. _

"_There's a few more of these where that came from," a burly, balding soldier offered with a wink, his eyes falling on her bosom. "If you catch my drift."_

_She puckered her lips in a sensual manner, letting her fingers dance over his shoulder ever so lightly. "Why don't you offer again once you've had a few more drinks?"_

_He let out a bellowing laugh, his cheeks already rosy. He winked again as she left the table, and she could feel his eyes burning against her skin as she walked away. _

"_You're much too good at this," Gaius sighed as she approached him. "I feel as though I'm spoiling your dignity."_

"_My dignity is still intact," she assured him, her hand reaching for her wig again. She was already sweating mercilessly beneath the weight of the extra hair. "All my flirting is done in good fun – it merely adds to the excitement of my dull life. Even if I never do achieve my goal of traveling, I can at least say I experienced the thrill and risk of slipping out at night to work here." It was a small reward, but it was an award nevertheless. She knew it would be expensive to travel, and if she were to overcome the stigma that accompanied a liberated woman, she'd still need to pay an escort to travel with her. So she valued these small experiences she seized for herself, breaking herself away from her increasingly mundane life._

_Their conversation was interrupted by a loud bang. It was not uncommon for fights to break out at the tavern – the drunken soldiers were easily provoked. Maura turned, waiting to see if the brawl would resolve itself, her attention falling on a stout, pockmarked soldier who had a lean, dark haired soldier by the shoulders._

_He bellowed a few words that were lost in the clamor of the tavern, giving the younger solider a hefty shove that throttled him backward, his head slamming against the sharp corner of a chair. A handful of soldiers cheered as their companion hit the ground with a thud, swarming around him to assess the damage. _

"_Hey!" Gaius shouted, hurrying over to the scene of the squabble, pushing a few of the drunk men out of his way. The young solider groaned, a pool of blood spilling out behind his head. He brought his hand to the gash, groggily rising from the floor, stumbling slightly from the impact from the blow. Maura hovered a small distance away, knowing immediately that his wound would seek medical assistance. _

"_Men, pull yourself together!" Gaius commanded firmly, the noise level of the tavern lowering significantly. "Can someone bring his fellow soldier to a doctor?"_

"_S'alright," the soldier slurred, slumping down into the nearest chair. "I'll be fine."_

_Gaius shrugged, never wanting to involve himself too heavily with the affairs of these men, but Maura knew better than to let the inebriated soldier make an ill-informed decision. _

"_Sir," she spoke softly, noticing his eyes for the first time as she approached him. Though they were bloodshot and gave off an irritating glare, they were deepest, warmest brown that Maura had ever encountered. "I can treat your wound if you'd let me take a look," she offered, hardly concerned about the consequences of her offer. _

"_And what would a little tavern whore like yourself know about medicine?" he spat undeservingly, grimacing in her direction. _

_His words stung, and she pursed her lips indignantly. "I know that with a blow as severe as that, blood loss can be fatal, and even if the wound were to clot on its own, left untreated, you'll be prone to infection which can be just as deadly."_

"_Well, well then, I stand corrected," he raised an eyebrow. "Looks like our tavern slut has been around the block a few times. By all means, work your magic." His tone was sarcastic, but his intoxicated state now had him feeling lethargic and submissive. _

"_Gaius," Maura spoke confidently, careful not to let his words wound her. She reminded herself that her disguise brought upon unwanted comments, and it was all part of the farce to put up with them. "Would I be able to use the back room to treat this good soldier?"_

_He pulled her aside, lowering his voice. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Maura? I'm not entirely sure that this kind of behavior is appropriate," he added, expressing his disapproval but was kind enough to show his respect. _

"_I've treated many of our household slaves for similar ailments, and I am well-read on the topic of medicine," she assuaged him, glancing back over to the soldier, who now appeared to be quite woozy and disoriented. "He needs treatment, and I don't trust him to seek it on his own."_

_Gaius nodded, and she smiled appreciatively, approaching the soldier once again. He glanced up at her, his eyes smoldering, and she inhaled a calming breath as she addressed him. "Follow me," she commanded. "I'm going to treat you."_

"_And what if I refuse?" he scoffed at her. _

"_If you value your life, I suggest you take my offer. As I stated, though infection is often overlooked, it can be fatal," she firmly informed him, irritated by his reproach, though a thrill coursed through her as she stood up to him, feeling a genuine sense of empowerment bubbling within her. _

"_What's it to you?" he shrugged her off, bringing his hand back up to his blood-coated hair. "For all you know I could die in the battlefield tomorrow."_

"_And wouldn't you rather die with pride, to die in honor for your country, rather than be defeated by such a pathetically earned wound?" His stubbornness infuriated her, but she found she enjoyed the challenge, welcoming the long sought after interaction her daily life lacked. _

_He only scowled, his legs a bit shaky as he followed her to the backroom. The storeroom was filled with large clay _amphorae_, filled with various wines and ales. She led the soldier to a pile wheat bags, sitting him down against the burlap sacks. Her wig shifted, sliding a bit down her sweaty forehead, and with a sigh, she tugged it away, pulling the pins from her long, honey colored hair as she let it fall loose. _

_The soldier raised an eyebrow, though whatever snide remark he had on the tip of his tongue was lost as she brushed his blood-matted hair away from the gash, taking a closer look. He cursed loudly, wincing significantly as she assessed the damage. _

"_Gaius," she spoke, noticing the tavern owner standing protectively in the doorway. "Could you get me a clean rag, water, and vinegar?" she requested, taking a closer look at the wound. "And if your wife would be willing, I also need a needle and thread. And perhaps a razor," she added for good measure. He nodded, disappearing back through the doorway. _

"_A razor?" the soldier asked skeptically as Maura hovered over him. _

"_I apologize, but shaving the area around the wound will be the most sanitary and concise way to stitch it," she explained, running a hand through his curls that ended just below his ears. She regrettably spoke the words, noticing how nicely his dark hair suited him. _

_He grunted. "Yeah, well, been meaning to shave anyway. So tell me, what's with the getup? A runaway slave? A fugitive of law?" Her eyes widened immediately at his suggestions, and he mistook it for fear. "Don't worry, I won't tell, love," he assured her with a grin. _

"_None of those," she answered confidently, doing her best to choose her words carefully. Lying was not a strong suit of hers, so she often went the route of skirting around the truth. "I needed the money, and Gaius offered me a position."_

"_Now that's one you don't hear everyday," he laughed, surprising her when he reached for her neck. She automatically flinched away, but his fingers sent a surprising chill up her spine as they brushed her soft skin. He tugged the chain of her _bulla, _coaxing it out from the neckline of her _stola. _"Now why would a freeborn Roman girl subject herself to such a filthy position?" _

_She was surprised that he had noticed the simple necklace that denoted her status. She knew that if she tried to lie, she'd hardly be convincing, so she let out a sigh. "I'm trying to buy my freedom – in a figurative sense, mind you," she added. "I'm a well-educated girl, and I feel as though a life of opportunity is passing me by," she sighed wistfully. "I want to travel – I want to be free."_

"_But is freedom worth the cost?" he countered, his voice sincere for the first time that night. "You're a beautiful girl," he told her gently, his eyes widening as he spoke, and Maura found herself growing lost in them. "Is your virtue worth the cost of your freedom?"_

_She immediately picked up on his implications and was genuinely touched that he suddenly cared, especially judging by the crude comments he had been all to eager to spit at her earlier. "I have not compromised my virtue," she assured him, just as she had assuaged Gaius only moments earlier. "Gaius takes good care of me, and while I may put on the front of a tavern whore, I do fortunately have the luxury to not follow through with the action itself," she concluded, watching his expression soften. _

"_Good. Because you're smart and you're pretty, and you deserve better," his voice was gruff again, but Maura sensed the tenderness in his words. _

_Gaius appeared in the doorway a moment later, bearing all the items that Maura had requested. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, silently asking her if she was receiving proper treatment from the intoxicated soldier. She simply nodded, and he stepped out to tend to his customers, leaving Maura to her task. _

_She cleaned the wound gently with water before dunking her rag into the vinegar. He hissed as the liquid burned his raw wound, but he said nothing, allowing Maura to work in silence. She let out a wistful sigh as she shaved away his thick curls, though it did give her better access to the wound as she stitched. _

"_There," she murmured, washing her hands in the water once she had finished. "Good as new."_

_He smiled as well, sending a warmth to Maura's belly. "So since I've blown your cover, would you be so inclined as to tell me your name?"_

"_Maurcella," she answered, knowing that his reasoning was correct. There was no need for her to withhold her name, and she felt inclined to trust him. "Maurcella Aurelia, daughter of Lucius Maurcellus Aurelius," she added, for a Roman girl was most easily identified by her father. _

"_Governor's daughter, eh?" he raised an eyebrow in recognition of the name, a hint of surprise in his voice. "You really do need to be careful around these parts," he added with a laugh. _

"_I know," Maura sighed, looking down at her hands. "But have you just ever wanted something so badly that the means to obtain it just didn't really matter anymore?"_

_He was silent for a moment, and she waited with bated breath, wondering if she had spoken too rashly. "I should really be going soon," he muttered, pulling himself up from the wheat sacks. "I'm glad to have met you, Maurcella."_

"_Maura," she corrected. "Nearly everyone simply calls me Maura. And your name?"_

_He seemed hesitant, but he answered curtly. "Janus."_

"_The double-faced god," she noted. "Is that a nickname?" she wondered aloud, wondering why he had not provided his full name. _

"_Guess so," he shrugged. "It's what most everyone calls me, so it's the only title I need."_

_She didn't question him further as they reentered the tavern. It was late, and she knew she'd need to arrive home before her absence was noticed. "Keep your wound clean," she instructed him. "I'm sure you have a doctor at your camp, but if you do need me for any reason, send word to Gaius, and he will inform me," she could not help but to add. _

_He nodded, glancing off in the direction of his fellow soldiers. "Of course. Thank you, love," he murmured, flashing her a dazzling smile. _

_Maura's stomach fluttered, an involuntary grin crossing her face as a feeling she had only read about before consumed her. _

XXX

_Knock! Knock!_

The desperate banging on the door startled Angela, waking her from her slumber. She sat up in bed with start, running a hand through her long, tangled hair as she tried to process the situation. He husband snored loudly beside her, undisturbed by the persistent rapping.

Angela hesitated as she rose from the bed, unable to fathom who would be calling at this late hour. She debated waking her husband, or perhaps one of the household slaves, but her curiosity got the best of her as she wrapped a _palla _around her, stepping quietly to the door. She pried it open cautiously, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes fell on the figure standing in the doorway.

"Constantina," she whispered, watching as the wind whipped around her, her _stola _billowing around her ankles.

"Angela," she greeted in return, her voice grave.

"It has been so long," Angela spoke softly, shock and regret lining her tone.

Constantina only nodded, and Angela found her eyes, full of fear and desperation.

"It has happened," Angela spoke. She did not phrase it as a question, the foreboding nature of her arrival telling her all that she needed to know.

Constantina let out a small whimper, biting down on her lip as her eyes confirmed it. Angela closed the distance between the two, wrapping her into a tight embrace. "Is she here?"

Constantina nodded against her, not trusting her voice. She inhaled deeply, pulling away from the other woman. She nodded toward the cart parked a few yards away, a male slave situated in the front, barely visible against the heavy darkness of the night.

"She's in the back," Constantina whispered softly, and Angela followed her over to the old, wooden vehicle.

"Would you like me to get her, _domina?_" the slave offered, nodding back toward the sleeping girl. Her golden hair spilled out around her, and despite the circumstances, her face serene in her slumber.

"No, I've got her," Constantina muttered, her voice so small it could barely be heard.

Maura, despite being a fully blossomed woman, was still slight enough for Constantina to lift in her grasp. It had been years since she had held her this way, and she found herself tumbling into a whirlwind of regret, her mind taunting her with all the opportunities she had missed. She had never known how to be a mother, and now, the moment she wanted to cling to her only child, she was faced with the decision to let her go.

Maura stirred, though she didn't wake, as Angela led the pair into her home. The agreement had been unspoken, though it had been set into place for years, and Angela had never questioned her loyalties. She ushered them into the empty bedroom down the hall, a knot rising in her stomach as she opened the rarely used door, thinking of her own daughter who had once inhabited the tiny room.

Constantina placed her atop the bed, brushing her long blonde hair away from her face. She kissed her forehead gently, her face wet with tears as she pulled away.

"We'll keep her safe," Angela promised, seeing Constantina out through the atrium.

Constantina nodded, reaching out to embrace the other woman a final time, her promise hanging reassuringly between them.

* * *

_A/N: So__, I know that the Constance/Angela friendship is a bit unexpected, but I promise it will be explained later. There are some plot points that really will depend on them knowing each other, so I felt like I owed you a small explanation._

_Also, if you like this era, you should check out __**Reallybigpineapple's**__ fic, Rizzolia and Ilia. It's off to a very promising start. Here's the story ID (8475270)_

_As always, feedback is very much appreciated. Just taking a minute of your time to write something brief will make my day :]_


	3. Chapter III

_A/N: I am so glad you guys are enjoying this – it's so fun to see fans of this time period come out of the woodwork._

_Apartment buildings in Ancient Rome – I thought this was something worth mentioning. Many (typically poorer) people did live in apartment buildings (called _insulae_) that were set up much like our apartments today, though these buildings were usually supported by wooden beams that rotted easily and were also likely to catch on fire or collapse – not really the ideal living conditions. I just wanted to give you guys a clearer picture of where Jane lives._

_Also, remember when I said this fic takes place around 60 AD? I didn't lie, but I have a more precise year, 64 AD, because of certain historical events, for those of you who might care to match dates with events that appear later on in this fic._

* * *

_Chapter III_

* * *

Jane's apartment was small and sparsely furnished, but she made do with what she could on her meager pension. Even if she did have the means, she doubted her apartment would look much different than it's current state. She had never understood the need for excessive material possessions, and her nomadic life as a solider had taught her to rely only on the necessities.

She lit a small candle, lighting the dank, dim interior as Frost followed her inside. "It's not much, but it's home," she shrugged, glancing around threadbare room.

There was a small wooden table in the middle of the room, covered in nicks and scratches. On the table, there was a small loaf of bread that Jane had wrapped haphazardly in an old rag. Beside the candle was a tarnished lamp, which Jane rarely used because she was too cheap to replenish her oil supply. By the table, there was a solitary stool, and on the far side of the room rested a rolled up mat and a few blankets that sufficed as her bed.

"Take a seat," she offered Frost the stool, at which he hesitated. For having such a defiant attitude, he still knew his place, and Jane could tell he was unsure how he she react to her kindness. "I'll take a look at your back," she offered, watching him situate himself on the seat.

She still had some water left in the basin from earlier in the morning, and she had a small supply of vinegar she kept handy. He winced as she dabbed the rag against his raw back, and Jane could imagine the sting all too clearly. "Infection can be fatal," she informed him gently, though the words were not her own. She swallowed quickly before she considered them too deeply, forcing herself to focus more intently at the task at hand.

There wasn't much she could do for him but clean his lashes; only time could heal his wounds. She found him a spare tunic, ridding him of his filthy loincloth as he pulled the loose material over his well-built frame. He was in desperate need of a bath, but Jane was hardly able to take him to the _thermae, _the bathhouse herself, her clothed body all that kept her fragile secret safe. It was easy enough for her to hike down to Tiber River to bathe herself when she deemed necessary, which she reasoned she'd suggest to Frost to do the same on his own accord. She hardly missed the concept of public bathing, despite the commodities that the bathhouses offered. She had never felt comfortable with her body, and it was a much-needed relief for her to conduct her personal hygiene in private.

After rinsing her hands, Jane stepped over to the table, unwrapping the loaf of bread. She tore off a chunk, handing it to Frost, who gladly accepted the meager portion of stale bread.

"You are a soldier?" he clarified. Her armor rested in the corner of the room by her sleeping mat, and he watched her toss her sword onto the pile, relinquishing her weapon in the safety of her home.

"Used to be," she answered curtly, leaning up against the edge of the table.

"Not anymore?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, nibbling on his bread as he savored each bite. It was a reasonable question – she was young, able, and strong, and it was customary for soldiers to serve for a duration of twenty-five years.

"Not anymore," she repeated, hardly eager to shed any more light on the topic, though she begrudgingly elaborated minimally. "I was discharged a few months ago – medical reasons," she added vaguely. "But that's that, and here I am now. So what about you?" she changed the subject all too willingly, gnawing on the hardened bread. "You speak Latin quite well, and I must say, I'm impressed by your ability to read."

He looked at his hands, sighing heavily, as if contemplating where to begin. She reasoned he had never been asked such a personal question, and he seemed at a loss for words. She wondered how many times he wished his voice had mattered, waiting for someone to merely listen. He leaned forward on the stool, finding Jane's eyes as he finally began. "I come to this country, just only a young boy. Your people ransack my home, take my people as slaves. My mother and father, they did not live. But my sisters, they come with me on a boat to the empire. I vow to protect them, vow to never leave them. But one fell ill, little Shepenwepet, and she never see the land again. They take her body, throw it into the sea. Such shame, no dignity, no honor. I become angry – such ugly, bitter hatred, filling me. My other sister, a master bought us in Ostia where our boat docked, but every time he touch her, every time he make her cry – so much anger, I did not let him. He sold me, separate us," he paused here to take a breath, a ripple of regret pulsing through him. Jane said nothing, letting his words settle, waiting for him to continue.

"My next master, his son was never sitting still, especially during his studies, so I sit with him, to make him focus. Out loud, he say his alphabet, practice his words, over and over and over, until I learn them too. It is how I learn to speak this language, how I learn to read small words, to put the letters together – I do not read well, but I know few things," he nodded, a little proudly.

"I have many masters after that, shipped around, sold again – I have so much anger. I am strong, I have much will, and they do not like it. The girls, the ones who were sold with me, they remind me of my sisters, so young, so innocent, I want to protect them too – but I fail…so much failure…" he trailed off, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as the words ceased to tumble from his mouth.

His story was brutal and so painfully honest. She felt a piece of her stony heart chip away, tempted to bare her own pain, her own hardships, but she had guarded herself so tightly that she did not know how to begin to reveal all she had locked inside. "You're only a failure if you stop trying," she spoke with wisdom, the words lifting her up as well. "And as far as I see, you've still got some fight left in you."

He smiled, finishing the last of his bread, licking his fingers for any remaining crumbs. Jane offered him her own piece, listening as his stomach rumbled loudly enough for her to hear. "Thank you, _domi – _Jane," he corrected, and she knew his words of gratitude ran so much deeper than for the simple nourishment she had provided him with.

They sat in comfortable silence as Frost finished eating, and Jane's eyes fell on her discarded armor in the corner, wondering if she could summon what little fight was left in her.

XXX

"_Mater, I'm going down by the sea," she called to her mother in the kitchen, grabbing her net, a bit breathless as she inched for the door. Her long, curly hair tumbled down her back in unmanageable curls, and her plain tunic was torn and dirty._

_Her mother appeared a moment later, a basket of fresh fruit on her hip and a look of worry etched onto her face. "You know I don't like it when you spend so much time down there, Clementia. I don't __like you swimming by yourself – it worries me."_

_Her motherly concern earned an eye roll from headstrong daughter. "I'll be fine, Mater. I'm a strong swimmer, and I never got out when the tide is too strong," she insisted, tapping her sandaled foot impatiently against the stone floor. "I'll catch you some fresh fish for dinner," she offered a bribe, holding up her well-used fishing net. _

_Her mother sighed, though a small smile danced on her lips as she registered her daughter's eager face. "It's as though the gods have given me two sons," she laughed. _

_Her daughter laughed as well, though she knew it would only be a matter of time before she'd be forced to embrace her femininity. She was nearly twelve, nearly a woman, though the idea of growing up was hardly appealing. Her father would soon choose a husband for her, smothering her into the role of docile housewife and mother. _

_But she certainly did not want to dwell too much on her foreboding future. She seized what little freedom she still had left, bunching her fishing net up in her grasp as she began to scurry toward the door. _

"_Bring your brother with you!" her mother called after her before she turned the corner back into the kitchen. _

_She groaned, stomping childishly into the atrium. Her brother was five, hardly able to keep up with her, though he was always eager to try. She found him crouched on the floor, tossing a few glass marbles across the creviced floor, watching them roll between the cracks. _

"_Franciscus," she spoke, her tone irritable. "I am going to the harbor to catch some fish – Mater wants you to come."_

_His face immediately lit up, as it always did when he was permitted to tag along with his idolized older sister. He let his marbles clatter to the floor, making a rush for the door. She hurried after him, grabbing his hand before he reached the street, hardly paying any heed to the carts and horses passing by. _

"_Can we go swimming?" he hopped along beside her, stepping over the cracks of the cobblestones. _

_She nodded, already knowing he'd spend half his time hanging onto her, his stroke not yet strong enough to support him when the water covered his head. She bit back a remark, tugging him along as she beckoned him to quicken his pace._

_The harbor came into full view, the dockworkers were already bustling about through their busy day. Franciscus eyes widened as he took in the large ships, their massive canvas sails billowing in the gentle breeze. She gave his hand another jerk, leading him down to the sand, away from the crowded docks. _

_The sand felt warm between her toes, and once they had walked a fair distance, she kicked off her sandals, leaving them near a sun-warmed rock. Franciscus eagerly unbuckled his own leather shoes before wriggling out of his tunic, leaving him in only his loincloth. _

_She grimaced, a ripple of jealousy coursing through her. She remembered the days where she had run around as free and naked as boy, but her developing body had put that to a halt. Her breasts had grown tender enough that she knew she could no longer expose them in public, though on days she came to the sea alone, she'd trek so far down the beach that she'd dare to shed every article of clothing, relishing the seclusion and the feel of the silky water against her bare skin. _

_But with Franciscus here, she kept her tunic on, leading him down to the water. She left her net on the beach, reasoning she'd fish later so their slick bodies would not bake in the sun and become covered in the coarse sand. _

_The water was pleasantly warm, and Franciscus ran in headlong, giggling as he splashed his sister. "You little rascal," she grinned in spite of herself, grabbing hold of his tiny body as she dragged him deeper out into the water, listening to his delighted shrieks. _

_Her drenched tunic bogged her down, reminding her of her irritability, but she tried her best to make the most of the serene day. Franciscus paddled along beside her as she tried to teach him to swim underwater with his eyes open. _

"_It stings my eyes," he whined, spitting out a mouthful of water as clung to her arm. _

"_It stops burning once you get used to it," she sighed, attempting to shake him off her arm. "And you'll never become a strong swimmer if you always cling to me."_

_His lips curved into a pout, but he let go of her arm reluctantly. He kept his head held high above the water, the scar on his left cheek more prominent in the glimmering sunlight. As soon as she was free, she dove beneath the surface. Her lungs had become quite strong with practice, and once she was submerged, she glided through the water effortlessly as she propelled herself downward. She kept her eyes open, noticing a few fish swimming a couple of yards away, their forms obscured by the shimmering water._

_She took in a gulp of air as she surfaced, feeling heavy as she hit the air. She noticed Franciscus treading water a few feet off, his brow creased in worry and his head dangerously close to bobbing under. She easily swam toward him, sighing as she offered him her arm again. _

_He attempted to carry his own weight for a moment longer, always determined to impress his sister, but he soon caved, letting his small hand snake around her elbow. "You stay under for so long," he muttered, a little breathless as she guided them back to shore._

"_I practice," she informed him, now close enough to shore that her feet could touch the sandy bottom. "You'll get there someday – you're getting stronger everyday." _

_He grinned proudly at her compliment, and her heart fluttered, realizing that her irritability was selfish. While she was often impatient with him, she realized his potential and was honored that he admired her. _

_Her clothes weighed her down as she dragged her body back onto the sand, and she wanted nothing more than to shed them. They reminded her of her imminent future, pressing down on her, when all she wanted was to embrace the carefree freedom she had once known. _

"_I'm going to play by the caves," Franciscus told her, eyeing the deep rock formations that rested close by._

_She nodded, falling back against the sand, letting the high afternoon sun warm her drenched body. She let her eyelids close, minutes passing by as she listened to the lull of the sea. It calmed her, and as her breathing grew deep and even, she danced on the edge of slumber. _

_A shriek startled her just before she could succumb, and she jerked her body up from the ground, disoriented as she squinted into the sun. She heard another scream, this time identifying it from the direction of the caves. _

_Franciscus. _

_She was on her feet in a minute, stumbling through the soft sand as she tried to run faster than she was able to. Panting, she reached the rocks, calling out his name. "Franciscus!"_

_"Clementia!" he returned her call, his voice lined with panic, and his next scream was muffled. She barreled on, her mind racing as she tried process the situation, her heart pounding wildly as she followed the sound of his voice._

_She found him a moment later, behind one of the large rocks, locked in the grasp of gruff man. She stood dumbstruck, her breathing erratic as she took in the scene, trying to plot her next move in her panic. She was too tiny to take on such a large, muscular man, but she could hardly sit back and watch as he snatched up her brother. The man kept his hand roughly over Franciscus's mouth, and her instinct took over as she rushed toward him, her voice much braver than she felt. "You put him down! Let go of my brother!"_

_"Barbatus!" the man called, easily grabbing the back of her tunic as she lunged toward him. "We've got another one!"_

_"Let go of me!" she clawed in his grasp, trying to reach for her brother simultaneously. From the opposite direction, she heard a padding of footsteps approach them, and all at once an equally intimidating man appeared, scooping her easily into his arms. _

_"The boss will be pleased," he laughed, locking his arms around her torso as she squirmed._

_She felt so helpless, so tiny as he began to drag her off in the opposite direction. She fought to turn her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her brother, but he kept a firm grip on her. "Boss likes the fighters," he grinned down at her, many of his teeth missing. _

_She struggled all the more, soon realizing that her minimal strength would be no match for his. She'd need another tactic, but her mind was racing too quickly for her to think. She needed the element of surprise on her side, knowing that shocking him into submission would be the only hope she would have at escaping. His forearm was close enough to her face that she could smell the stench of sweat emanating off his skin, and without a second thought, she sank her teeth into his arm as harshly as she could. _

_He jerked in surprise, letting out a yelp. His grip loosened, and in the split second that he did, she jabbed her knee roughly into his crouch with just the right amount of pressure to send him doubling over in pain. Free from his grasp, she ran as fast as her skinny legs could carry her, her eyes wildly scanning the endless beach for a place to hide before landing on a gathering of three large rocks. _

_She dared one glance over her shoulder, watching at the man rose from the ground, limping slightly from the pain that had yet to dull. She slipped behind a large rock before he could gather his bearings, and she began to dig furiously at the base of the massive stone until she had created a ditch just large enough for her to burrow into. She pulled her body into a tight ball, closing her eyes tightly as she listened to her heart slam against her chest, her cheek pressed up hard against the sand. _

_She did not know how much time had passed before she could force herself to move, slowing inching the life back into her paralyzed limbs. When she crawled out from behind the rock, her damp clothes still clinging to her, she was greeted by the empty beach. A sob tore through her as she followed the footsteps that lined the soft sand, screaming her brother's name until her voice was hoarse. _

_She collapsed at the end of the trail, her body quivering and aching. She fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands as she sobbed tearlessly, overcome by grief. She didn't move for a long time, pressing her legs to her chest as she rocked in the sand. It was all her fault. The realization hit her with such force, such gravity that she spilled the contents of her stomach into the sand in front of her, heaving until there was nothing left. She gasped a few times, inching away from the mess she had created._

_The sun began to set, dying the water hues of pink and gold. She caught a glint of metal in the sand a few feet away. Curiously, she dug her hand around the object, letting the sand sift through her fingers, revealing a bronze necklace. _

_Franciscus's _bulla.

_She let out another sob, beating her fists against the sand, never hating herself more. _

XXX

"Jane! Jane!"

She felt a hand against her arm, and she swatted it away, a wave of panic rushing through her. "You took him! Don't you touch me!" She flailed wildly, her eyes trying to find his face in the darkness.

"Jane! Calm down," the voice commanded her, keeping a firm grip on her arm. "It is just me. It is just Frost."

His voice was soft and soothing, and she gulped in a gasp of air, calming herself. She continued to inhale until she had gathered her bearings, the dim interior of the familiar apartment building settling around her. Frost continued to sit with her, his hand gently rubbing her arm.

"You scream," he told her softly. "You scream so loud, I think someone hurt you." There was a hint of fear in his voice.

"I'm fine," she spoke curtly, her voice still weak. "Go back to bed, Frost."

He nodded respectfully, curling back up onto his pile of blankets, all Jane had been able to provide him with for a bed. She continued to breath softly, reaching under her mat for the familiar bronze chain, holding it securely in her grasp. She listened to Frost breathe, his breaths switching from shallow to deep as sleep claimed him once again.

She listened for hours before she finally unclenched her fists, letting the _bulla _fall from her grasp, and she sobbed softly until she fell into a fitful slumber.

* * *

_A/N: So where is Tommy, you may ask? He has not been omitted, so he'll be accounted for later, just in case you were curious. _

_Your reviews keep me writing - seriously, they're very encouraging and inspiring, so keep the feedback coming :]_


	4. Chapter IV

_A/N: I apologize for the wait. It's been been a busy week, and I probably already devote more time to fanfiction than I should. To **Sanguiopsaurum, **who anonymously reviewed, I wanted to say I appreciated your little nerdy moment, haha. While I am familiar with the vocative case (been taking Latin for over seven years now lol) it didn't register that Jane was the vocative form of Janus when I decided to use it - so look at that. Jane actually is a Latin word after all ;)_

* * *

_Chapter IV_

* * *

Maura watched the beams of sunlight shimmer against the stone floor as the light filtered in through the bedroom window. Her gaze rested ahead, her eyes unblinking, her form unmoving, as she had been for the past few hours. Her body ached with an insatiable exhaustion, as if her energy had been permanently drained. It was an ugly sort of hopelessness that ate away at her, one that made her long for the determination she had once stubbornly held on to. But with so little less to fight for, she found herself wasting away into uselessness.

She heard a gentle knock at the door, though the noise did little to rouse her. Her eyes remained heavy and motionless, her body sunk deep into the straw mattress, as if a solid rock pinned her down. The door creaked open, yet she still did not respond, watching as a pair of sandaled feet shuffled into her line of vision.

"Maura." The voice held a hint of familiarity, and she felt her body sink deeper into the straw filled mattress as the woman sat on the edge of her bed, letting out a heavy sigh. Maura's breathing remained slow and shallow, her eyes watering slightly when she became conscious that she could not remember when she had last blinked.

"Are you hungry?" the woman tried again. Maura curled her fingers around the blanket every so slightly, slowly coaxing her stiffness away. She blinked a few times, keeping her eyelids shut for a moment before she heaved herself up from the mattress, her head pounding as the blood began to circulate once again. Feeling dazed, she blinked a few more times, curling her knees to her chest as she turned to face the woman.

She appeared to be around her own mother's age, with bits of grey beginning to sprinkle her caramel brown hair and wrinkles beginning to crease around her eyes. She was dressed modestly in a coarse woolen _stola _and a pale brown _palla _draped over her shoulders. Maura looked down at her own attire, a light, silky _stola _that was wrinkled from the handful of days she had worn it without changing. It smelled faintly of sweat, as did her hair, which she noticed as the fingered the matted tendrils, realizing just how desperately she needed to bathe. The effort seemed so great, and she wondered why she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I'm not hungry." The words sounded strange as she spoke, her voice vibrating through her throat. When was the last time she had spoken? She had answered her mother when necessary, but her days had been filled with pensive silence. She no longer drew countless facts out of her mind, eager to share her knowledge of the world around her. Her eyes no longer lit up when she could apply the endless information she'd read and studied to the world around her. Her spark of ingenuity was gone, and instead she felt content to waste away.

"You should eat." It was not an argument but more of a gentle coaxing. Maura's eyes darted to the woman's lap, noticing a tray with a small assortment of food.

Maura brought her hand up to her face, tracing her gaunt cheekbone. She wondered what she looked like right now, her body emaciated from neglect. She curled her knees into her chest, tracing her tongue against her lips. The woman held up a slice of pita bread, gently nudging it in Maura's direction. Maura accepted it after much deliberation, letting the small weight of the bread rest in her hand. She still did not eat.

"Did your mother tell you why she brought you here?" the woman spoke, her eyes creasing with worry.

Maura looked down at the bread in her grasp, tracing the coarse texture with her thumb. She nodded. "We received word that my father encountered trouble with one of the British chieftains. He feared for my safety, so my mother brought me here," she spoke carefully. The situation had come about so suddenly that Maura had not had any time to protest their departure, and her mother's elaboration had been sparse. "How do you know my mother?" she questioned suddenly, curious about the answer her mother had failed to provide.

"She did not tell you?" the woman spoke, and Maura could not tell if she were surprised or not.

"She only told me that she intended to bring me somewhere safe. I know that she grew up in Ostia, but I did not realize that she still had ties here." Maura let out a small breath as she finished speaking, her jaw feeling slightly sore from use. It had been months since she had engaged in a conversation this extensive, and she found the effort tiring.

"Eat your bread, and I will tell you," the woman spoke encouragingly, waiting until Maura brought it to her lips. She chewed softly, the bland taste sticking in her mouth as she forced herself to swallow.

"Your mother and I suckled from the same breast – I was born just three days before her, so my mother was chosen to be her wet nurse," the woman began as Maura continued to eat, feeling the bread settle into her empty stomach. "I was given to Constantina as her personal slave, to tend to her every need. I fixed her hair, helped her dress, accompanied her to the baths – we grew up as close as sisters, despite our differing social standings. Though your mother was upright and proper, she was free-spirited. She thirsted for knowledge and craved companionship - and though I was not a friend, we had inevitably become close.

"Your mother, she loved art more than anything, as I imagine you know very well. She was quite skilled at sketching and painting – and when she had to opportunity to sculpt, she made exquisite pieces. But your mother did not always wish to paint a garden or a city street or perhaps any scene deemed appropriate for a high born lady," here the woman paused, her cheeks turning a little pink. "She often had me shed my clothing so she could paint me. I was always vulnerable, but she taught me confidence as she longed to explore the feminine form in her artwork – I'm sorry," she apologized, her cheeks still pink. "You don't need to know all these things, but I suppose I got caught up in the memory of it all. It has been years since I have seen Constantina, and seeing her last night reminded me of a life I'd almost forgotten about."

Maura, intrigued by hearing about her elusive mother's youth, had clung onto every word, almost disappointed when the woman ceased her tale. The bread in her hand was nearly gone, and she found herself eyeing the plump grapes that decorated the tray, her mouth dry from the sour bread. "If you were her slave, then why did you remain here in Ostia?"

The woman smiled fondly, continuing on, "When I was sixteen, I fell in love. He was only a poor blacksmith's son, destined to follow in his father's business, but I saw him often when I shopped in the forum. I never believed anything would come of it – I believed I would marry another slave and bring up my own children in same manner that I had been raised. But Constantina was not oblivious to our courtship – she was a hopeless romantic herself, a believer in the passion and love she read about in stories and myth. She was due to wed around the same time, and before her wedding, she granted me my freedom, giving me the chance to pursue my love."

Maura smiled, marveling at the woman's words. She had rightfully described her mother as upright and proper, which was the side Maura had always seen of her, and though she knew her mother was a strong-willed, passionate woman, Maura herself had never been a personal benefactor of those qualities.

Maura scooted closer to her on the bed, hesitantly reaching for the grapes. The woman smiled, gladly offering her the dish. "I hardly tell anyone about your mother," she admitted. "Only the people who knew your mother's family or knew me as a child – I did not even tell my own children of my upbringing." Maura watched her eyes darken, a sudden pain coming over her.

She sighed, continuing on, leaving the question on the edge of Maura's lips unasked. "However, your mother did come to visit me once – her father had passed away, so she came for a brief visit while she was in Ostia. You were with her, but you were so little that I hardly expect that you remember coming."

They were silent for a moment as Maura savored a few more grapes, letting their tart sweetness refresh her dry mouth. "Thank you," she spoke quietly. "Thank you for telling me what my mother did not."

The woman smiled, her eyes creasing in the corners with genuineness. "I'm sorry that the circumstances that brought you here are not ideal. I hoped I would see you again – you were such a pretty child, even at such a young age, and I hoped I'd get to see you blossom."

Maura smiled appreciatively, placing the remainder of the grapes back on the tray, her stomach already beginning to hurt from the sudden influx of food her body was not accustomed to.

"Would you like me to show you more of the house? Or one of our slaves could escort you to the baths if you'd like?" she spoke encouragingly, but Maura had already begun to retreat once again.

"Perhaps later," she spoke softly. "I'd rather be alone right now."

The woman nodded, balancing the tray in her grasp as she appeased to Maura's request. Once the door clicked shut, Maura curled up against the blankets again, a world-weary sigh escaping her lips. She had never believed she'd sink low enough to let another person's influence destroy her life. Maura had always been independent and self-reliant – she had learned to cope with loneliness by filling the emptiness with knowledge and discovery. What she had never banked on was finding a person who cared for her and one she cared so deeply for in return. The lack of companionship and love throughout her youth had never affected her detrimentally – how could she miss what she had never had? But upon finding that long sought after desire, upon discovering love as a feeling and not just a word – the pain of having that snatched away had not been smothering.

She let her eyes flutter shut, welcoming the blissful slumber she knew would momentarily dull the ache.

XXX

_The bright sun pulsed against Maura's back as she tried to take in the crowded docks all at once, her senses on overload as her eyes darted around, counting more people than she had ever seen in one place at a given time. _

"_Maura!" Her mother's voice snapped her attention away from the bustling crowd, and she scurried on her small legs in attempt to keep up with her mother. "We haven't go much time," she reminded her, reaching for Maura's hand in an uncustomary manner. She let her hand settle into her mothers, a small smile breaching her lips as the unexpected contact left a warm feeling in her belly._

_Maura, not quite five yet, had been born in Britannia and had never imagined – let alone seen – what life was like outside of the isolated province. She did not fully understand why her mother had brought her to the shores of Ostia, something about a grandfather she had never known passing on, but Maura had been much too eager at the prospect of traveling to let the reasons fully sink in. She toddled along beside her mother, disappointed that she had so little time to take in the sights around her._

_They came to a humble home not far from the docks, and her mother seemed somewhat hesitant as she knocked on the door. A slave greeted them, nodding them in, instructing them to wait in the atrium as he went to fetch his mistress. He returned moments later, followed by a heavily pregnant woman, who's face twisted into an expression of pleasant surprise upon falling on the pair. _

"_Angela, how lovely to see you," Constantina greeted, taking the woman's hands in her own. "You look well, and it seems as though you are in good health. And I offer my congratulations," she further added, her eyes falling on her rounded abdomen. Angela touched her belly, unable to contain her smile. "I'd wager this is not your first?"_

"_No," Angela laughed lightly. "I have one other, a daughter. I lost a baby a few years ago, so we are very blessed that this pregnancy has gone well. The baby seems strong, and Franciscus is praying for a son," she added. "I see you have a little one of your own," she smiled down at Maura, who hid behind her mother's legs just a bit bashfully; her experience interacting with others beyond her family and her household slaves was very limited. _

"_Yes, this is my little Maurcella," she touched Maura's honey blonde curls lightly. _

_Angela smiled. "My daughter is not much older than she is – she's out in the garden, if she'd like to go out and play with her," she offered, watching Maura's shy expression break out into an eager smile. _

"_Yes, I believe Maura would enjoy that," Constantina spoke, touching Maura's back lightly as she followed Angela out into the garden. "There is a matter I'd like to discuss with you, if you have a moment," she spoke carefully. _

_Maura left the two women to their conversation, stepping out into the small, enclosed garden. The plants were much brighter and vibrant than the small variety of shrubs they had in their own garden, the harsh weather in the north making it hard to keep a proper garden. Maura admired the flowers, almost forgetting that she was to meet another little girl out here until she heard a voice. _

"_Hey, who are you?" _

_Startled, Maura wheeled around, trying to pin the source of the voice. _

"_Up here," the voice called out again, and she glanced up to see a face peering out between the leaves of the pear tree. The girl had wild, dark hair and wide brown eyes that seemed startling on such a small face. Maura, who had never climbed a tree in her life, looked up at the girl with admiration, her mouth hanging agape. _

"_You just gonna stare?" the girl laughed, hopping down to the branch below her easily. "Wanna come up?"_

_Maura looked down at her prim _stola_ and her clean hands, slightly hesitant. It was not at all the behavior that was encouraged of a Roman girl – and even at such a young age, Maura's mother had taught her to abide by societal standards, especially in the presence of others. _

"_Come on, I'll give you a hand," the girl grinned sympathetically, dropping herself down to the lowest branch as she extended her hand. "It'll be fun."_

_Maura stepped toward the girl, planting her hand securely in her grasp, smiling immediately upon the contact. "Just step right there onto that little nub, and I'll help pull you up," the girl encouraged, and Maura obediently followed her command, struggling a little to heave her body up onto the branch. "There you go. Let's go a little higher, if you're not too scared," she dared with a wolfish grin. _

"_I'm not scared," Maura finally spoke, her voice confident and clear. _

_The girl laughed. "I was beginning to think you didn't talk. My name's Clementia, by the way." _

"_I'm Maurcella," Maura answered, feeling just a little dizzy the higher they went, but she was not about to make her fear apparent. _

"_So what are you doing in my garden? Do you live around here?" Clementia finally asked._

"_Oh, no, Mater and I came to visit. I live across the sea," she stated, remembering the long journey they had taken by ship. _

"_That's too bad. There's not a lot of kids around here to play with – I was hoping we'd have more adventures. I like you," the girl sighed a bit wistfully. _

"_Perhaps Mater and I can visit more often," Maura spoke hopefully as well, trying to climb to a higher branch, equaling her height with the girl's. _

_As she reached for the branch, her foot slipped. She let out a small yelp, and her heart dropped to her stomach in her rush of panic, images of her small body slamming against the ground assaulting her mind. They were quickly canceled by a strong grip around her wrist, and as she regained her footing. She peered up at the girl, feeling a little queasy, and she did not let go, even after Maura had steadied herself. _

"_You okay?"_

_Maura nodded, huddling against the girl. She wrapped her arm around Maura's waist, and Maura graciously tucked her head into the crook of her neck, listening to the girl's erratic heartbeat. "You gave me a scare," the girl spoke softly. "And nothing really scares me."_

"_I'm okay now," Maura spoke softly, her breathing returning to a steady rate. She took the girl's hand in her own, letting their fingers loosely intertwine, hoping it would be ages before her mother appeared in the garden to fetch her._


	5. Chapter V

_A/N: I apologize for the wait. I'm not always very efficient with fast updates, especially when I have a few stories in progress, but I assure you that I'm still very dedicated to this story. _

_A special thanks to Twiskers (ranejizzoli on tumblr) for making this gorgeous cover art for me :]_

_Also, just something to note. I know it's a bit awkward when I refer to Jane in these flashbacks as different names. In Maura's POV, you'll see her as whatever name Maura currently knows her by. In Jane's POV, she's just 'she' or 'the soldier.' I so badly want to call her Jane, but she's not Jane until Frost dubs her that, so in the flashbacks it feels inaccurate to call her that, so just bear with me. _

_Thanks for all your support!_

* * *

_Chapter V_

* * *

_She submerged herself into the icy water, her muscles tensing immediately from the sudden contact, though she willed herself to relax as she let the layer of filth wash away. She kept her body beneath the shimmering surface, always glad to hide it beneath the ripples of the water. Her body was an ugly reminder of her weakness, a disgraceful reminder of the past she so desperately wished to forget. _

_She took in a gasping breath as she surfaced, letting the water rush around her. Her feet skimmed the silt that lined the bottom of the river, her skin coming in contact with the slippery rocks and underwater plants that covered the earthy floor. She could hear the dull chirping on birds in the distance, drowned out by the lapping of the water against the rocks and her pounding heart. She willed herself to relax, but the frigid temperature of the water would not allow her muscles to untighten, making her miss the gentle warmth of sea._

_She let the water run over her body for a moment longer before she swam to shore, binding her chest tightly with a long stretch of linen and quickly covering her dripping body with her clean tunic. She continued to shiver, the thin garment hardly providing her with any warmth against the chilly breeze. Summer in Britannia could not be equated to heavy heat she had known in Ostia. _

_Behind her, she heard a branch snap, and she wheeled around with a sudden panic trilling in her heart, not at all expecting to have company. _

_Her eyes fell on a beautiful woman, standing a few feet off near the trees, her face framed in sunlight. She immediately recognized her as the girl from the tavern. _Maura, _she repeated her name to herself, as she had done often in the past few weeks. Even in her drunken state, she had registered her heart-stopping beauty, and she knew it would take a lifetime to forget a face so fair. _

_"How long have you been standing there?" she narrowed her eyes warily, doing her best not to make her panic evident as she kept up a callous façade. _

_"No long," Maura admitted. "I was just out for a walk and found myself surprised to see someone else out so far. My curiosity got the best of me."_

_She searched her eyes for any sign of deceit, but she was only greeted with genuine innocence. She reached for her sword and hilt, securing the weapon tightly to her waist. _

_"I almost didn't recognize you," Maura spoke, holding a booklet of loose papyrus sheets against her hip. "You look different without your hair, Janus," she spoke almost regrettably._

_The soldier instinctively reached up to touch her bare scalp, fingering the stubble that remained. "It was easier – just to shave it all off. Kept the wound cleaner anyway," she muttered with a shrug. _

_"And is it healing well?" Maura asked, stepping closer, curious to examine the scab. Maura's fingers brushed against her scalp, her breath catching as her gentle fingers came in contact with her skin. "You'll have a small scar, but it should hardly be visible when your hair grows back in."_

_She shrugged again. "I don't mind much – scars don't bother me. I got a lot of them anyway," she muttered, knowing that her deeply tanned skin was decorated with so many nicks and marks that she obtained from a childhood of rough play. She looked down at her arms, dark and leathery from spending so much time outdoors, not at all like Maura's soft white skin that held a hint of a pink glow, doubting that Maura had any scar or blemish spoiling her perfect body. "So you make a habit of sneaking out to places you shouldn't be?"_

_Maura's eyes flashed, first with amusement and then a hint of indignation. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. My gender does make me weak."_

_The soldier's own eyes flashed, Maura's words settling deeper than she anticipated. For her, her gender was exactly what had made her weak. Severing herself from the traditional role of her gender had been all that had offered her strength and determination. It was a foreign concept for her, to see Maura take pride in something she found so debilitating. "You may be confident, but Gaius looks out for you when you're at the tavern," she reminded her. "And out here – who knows who might find you. You might think you're lucky you've found me instead of someone else, but how do you know I'm just not like the rest of 'em? For all you know, I could be waiting for just the right moment to take advantage of you," she spoke darkly, the words tumbling from her mouth as she battled with her own self-hatred and her spite for Maura's confidence. She instinctively stepped closer to Maura, flicking a strand of honey colored hair behind her shoulder, but Maura did not flinch._

_"But you won't," Maura did not falter over the statement, titling her chin confidently as her eyes bore into the soldiers. _

_"Yeah, and what makes you so sure?" She was startled by the security of Maura's words. _

_"Because you're a good man," Maura stated simply, a smile playing on her lips. _

_The soldier looked down at her feet, still bare from her bath. The gritty dirt stuck to her wet toes, making a dark ring around the edge of her skin. She looked up, not knowing how to take the compliment, especially one that was so far from the truth. "You don't know that I'm good man. You don't even know me."_

_"No," Maura did not deny this statement. She stepped closer, placing her hand against her arm. The soldier jumped, not accustomed to such displays of physical contact. "Your words may be gruff, and your heart may be stony, but your eyes cannot lie. They are the windows to the soul – that's what my mother has always called them. She finishes them last when she paints a figure, leaving them as empty vessels until she brushes her last stroke – they spark the life into her painting. Your eyes," she continued on, never breaking eye contact. "Your eyes are deep – they show pain, they show compassion. They show what your heart and your words do not. They tell me that you are a good man, which is why I do not fear you."_

_"Well, you should," the soldier narrowed her eyes, grasping her delicate arm firmly. She watched Maura purse her lips, holding in a gasp, her eyes fierce and confident despite the soldier's need to prove her control, angry that she had already shown such weakness. "Your trust is flattering, but you have nothing but your innocent optimism to back your theory. I could hurt you. I could hurt you bad, and there'd be no one out here to hear your cries." Her face was only inches away from Maura's, and she could feel the warm of her breath on her face as Maura's nostrils flared._

_"But you won't," Maura repeated firmly, her teeth gritted. "You think I'm naïve? I may not have the opportunity to interact with people often, but when I do, I notice them. My mother may not have taught me much, but she taught me the art of observation, the importance of intuition. When I first met you, you put on a front – the same front you are displaying now. But when you let your guard down, when you dared to expose a small piece of yourself – I saw you for who you are. You may be accustomed to being misunderstood, but so am I, and you do not fool me, Janus. You told me I was smart, and that I was pretty. You told me that I deserved better. You could not see your eyes when you spoke those words, but I could."_

_She was undone by the sincerity of Maura's words and at a loss as she struggled to find the appropriate response, still in fierce denial that Maura's assessment might be right. "You ever think that's just how I might treat all pretty girls?" She gripped her arm a little tighter, cocking her head, a small smile on her lips. _

_"I don't doubt you'd treat any girl with the respect you gave me – just as I don't believe you'd hurt anyone without justification. You'd no sooner hurt me if I stood before you, disfigured and ugly. And don't try to say you still could, because you would have done it by now if you meant me any harm." Maura shook her arm out of her grasp, though she made no move to distance herself. She exhaled a deep breath, her eyes softening as she added. "Why are you fighting me so vehemently? Don't you wish to be a good man?"_

_"Oh, yes, I do wish I could be a good man. But I'm not, so there's no use pretending that I am. I may not hurt you, but that's only one part of being a good man. There's a lot more to it, and I've done a lot of wrong in my life. I have hurt people, maybe not in the way you'd expect, but I still hurt them. Maybe I'm not a bad man like I lead people to believe I am, but I'm not a good one either," the words tumbled from her mouth, and she let out a heavy sigh as she spoke, her eyes aching as she found Maura's. _

_"Just wishing to be a good man makes you one," Maura spoke softly. She reached to grab the soldier's arm gently, reversing their previous positions. _

_"You have more faith in me than I have in myself," she sighed lightly, at last letting her angry protests wane. "What do you got in that book of yours anyway?" She was glad to turn the conversation away from herself, her gaze dropping down to Maura's hip where her papyrus sheaf still rested. _

_"Just some sketches mostly." Maura let her hand drop from the soldier's arm as she turned her attention to the booklet. _

_"Oh, are you an artist like your mother then?" Her curiosity was piqued as Maura began to page through the sheets of paper. _

_"I'm certainly not as talented as she is, and I hardly have artistic muse that she does - I most;y sketch plants," she opened to a page of meticulously drawn diagrams. The soldier raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding. "I've done extensive reading about the cures and remedies nature has to offer, and I find it fascinating to find these plants for myself and observe their properties. Yarrow," she pointed to once of her sketches, "is commonly used to stop the flow of blood. And these spotted leaves here, called lungwort, can be used if a person experiences difficulty breathing." She glanced up at the soldier, her cheeks a little pink. _

_"Sure beats praying to the gods for healing," she laughed, impressed by her knowledge. In fact, she was impressed by Maura, regardless. She hadn't realized what a remarkable young woman she had stumbled upon that night in the tavern. Off in the distance, her thoughts were startled by trill blare of a trumpet. She cursed under her breath, realizing she had lost track of time. "That's my cue to head back to camp. Come on, I'll walk you home," she offered Maura, beginning to strap her sandals to her feet. _

_"I haven't finished my walk," Maura protested gently. "And my _villa _is in the opposite direction of your base."_

_"Doesn't matter, I will see to it that you make it safely home. You may not have to worry about me, but you never know who else is out here. And I don't want to hear any excuses," she added as she saw Maura open her mouth to retort. She offered Maura her arm, leading her through the dense underbrush, a small smile playing at her lips. "After all, I am a good man, so you'd best let me be one."_

XXX

The streets were quiet as Jane stepped out into the humid night, though she was still cautious as she ducked behind her building, skirting her tunic out around her as she squatted to relieve herself. When she finished, she rose, taking a a deep breath of the stale air. She missed the salty air of Ostia, the warmth of the sea breeze, and she missed the crisp, pine scent the chilly air of Britannia held. She was restless, purposeless, and for the first time, she didn't know how to run from that feeling.

She creaked open the door of her apartment, letting out a string of curse words as Frost greeted her. "Didn't know you were still up," she composed herself, sitting down against her mat as she pulled her knees to her chest. She could see his face across the room in the dim light the moon offered.

"Cannot sleep," he answered, shifting his body against the hard floor, always making Jane feel guilty that she could not offer him a better bed. "You can use chamber pot," Frost motioned toward the clay vessel she kept tucked away in the far corner of the room. "I do not mind, and usually I do not wake."

She shrugged again, finding it exhausting to always come up with a lie when she had to explain the quirks she used to conceal her hidden identity. "I don't mind. Just as easy to go outside, and I needed the fresh air. Not like I'd be buying myself an extra time to sleep anyhow - gave up on that hours ago," she added with a a bitter laugh. She ran her hands through her hair, regretting her curls in the summer heat, though she could not bring herself to cut them.

"Who is Maura?"

Jane yanked her hands away from her hair, her defenses peaking when she realized she had been caught off guard. "What?" Jane spoke almost dumbly, trying to recall when she would have mentioned the name she had tried to hard to obliterate from her memory.

"You do not scream tonight, but you say her name, more than once, in your troubled sleep. Who is she, this Maura? Do you love her?"

Though Frost's questions were asked in innocence, they made Jane's stomach bubble with rage. "I do not know a Maura - not anymore, at least. And I never want you to say her name again, do you hear me?"

"Jan-"

"Frost, I'm warning you. I've never beat a slave, and I don't intend to, but if you bring up her name again, I will give you so many lashes that you'll have trouble remembering your own name." Her voice dripped with grave admonishment as she spoke, her eyes glowering darkly. Frost remained silent for a moment as the tension hung between them.

"Goodnight, _dominus,_" Frost spoke humbly, his revere proving to Jane that he did not take her warning lightly.

"Goodnight, Frost," Jane answered, her voice softer, nearly regretting her harsh words. She had hoped that her anger would mask the pain, but there was no cure for the ugly knot that hard formed in her heart.

* * *

_A/N: I promise there will eventually be cute, happy Rizzles moments in this story, but for the most part, it is really going to be an angsty fic, just to give you fair warning. As always, your feedback is much appreciated; just letting me know you're enjoying it means so much! Thanks_


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